Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 11] - Give All To Love

by Patricia Veryan

  Devenish scanned him uncertainly.

  Leith removed a blossom from the untidy fair hair. "A fine way to behave," he scolded, sotto voce, then turned to bow over Josie's hand and drop a kiss onto her uplifted cheek. "Lovelier each time I see you, Milady Elf," he said with a fond smile. "You'd best take care, Dev, else you'll have some lucky fellow taking your ward off your hands."

  "Just as I've been telling her," said Devenish blandly.

  "He has, in fact, been instructing me on whom I am to choose," Josie explained.

  "Oh, has he?" Leith chuckled. "So that was the cause for the uproar. Lucky I came when I did."

  "Lucky for us," Devenish said heartily. "You can stay a week at least, I hope?"

  "Have you brought Rachel and the children?" asked Josie eagerly.

  "My four ladies are still at Cloudhills," he answered with a smile. "And I regret that I can stay no longer than tonight. I've a message for Guy, and then must dash home. Craig and his family are joining us for a week, and I've the deuce of a lot to attend to now that my father and Dora are in Brazil."

  Disappointed, Devenish said, "No, but they'll not miss you for a day or so."

  "Perhaps. But I miss them. Dashed if I can see how you stand the life of a bachelor!''

  On her way to give instructions to the servants, Josie said, "He will not be one for much longer, Tris." She directed a mocking glance over her shoulder. "My aged soul is to be wed—very soon."

  "Devil he is!" Taken aback, Leith asked, "To whom, slyboots?"

  Devenish tightened his lips, irritated.

  Josie called sweetly, "Tell him, dearest…" and closed the door.

  "Baggage!" muttered Devenish, and waved the Colonel to a chair.

  Watching as he limped over to the credenza whereon rested decanter and glasses, Leith grinned. "Yes, but what a charming one."

  "Isn't she?" Returning to hand his friend a glass of Madeira, then sit on the edge of his desk, Devenish said proudly, ''Who'd have dreamed that tragic waif would become such a beautiful lady?"

  Leith glanced at him, but his response was tardy. He was at once the recipient of a blazing glare. Devenish snarled, "I suppose you think she is not beautiful?"

  Leith's deep chuckle sounded. "Swords, or pistols? No—truly, I think her delightful, and if I judge her pretty rather than beautiful, I am likely prejudiced because to me there is but one beautiful lady in the world, and I have her."

  Devenish threw a frustrated glance at the ceiling. "Once a Staff Officer, always a Staff Officer!"

  "No—really, your little elf is a delight, and has grown up, Dev. Which is more than I can say for you. What's this I hear about a feud with Little? I vow you're the same fire-eater manoeuvred me into that damnable fight with Shotten, the very first minute we met!"

  "Manoeuvred you! Like blazes, Tris! The truth is, you stole my quarrel!" He grinned, his anger vanished. "At the Cat and Dragon, wasn't it? And do you remember the time that rascally farmer was trying to sell a ten-year-old nag to some poor moonling—"

  "Whereupon you had to intervene and tell the moonling the hack was ten rather than six, and the farmer called you—let me see—ah, a dang rude little shrimp of a dandy!"

  "Whereupon I punched his fatuous head for him!"

  "Yes—and he and his damned great hulking sons beat you to a pulp, and I'd my work cut out to bring you off still breathing!"

  They both laughed. Devenish said, "Those were good times! It seems such a little while ago. Only yesterday, in fact, since I found my Elf."

  There was a wistful quality to his slow smile, and Leith, his lazy dark eyes seeing so much more than they appeared to, asked quietly, "Nothing wrong, is there, old fellow?"

  "What? Oh, no. Nothing. Save that—I wish the years had not flown quite so fast." He shrugged. "The cry of all fond parents, I fancy."

  Leith gazed thoughtfully at the fire, then murmured, "You could not expect to keep her safe hidden for—"

  "Safe hidden? Now, just what the hell do you mean by that?"

  "Saints preserve us! Must you take me up so? Dev—you have, in a manner of speaking!"

  "Then I take a dim view of your manner of speaking! Besides—I've not hidden her well enough, apparently. Fontaine's spotted her.''

  "Of course. He spots every pretty girl. He was captivated by her at Jerry's ball last—"

  "Blast it! Everyone seems to have seen that, save me! Why didn't you warn me, Tris?"

  "Why the deuce should I warn you?" said Leith, mildly amused by his volatile friend. "You have, I presume, eyes in your head. And at all events, what's so wrong about Fontaine's interest? Good catch, I'd think."

  "Had he marriage in mind."

  Leith stared and, considerably shocked, said, "He's a gentleman, Dev."

  "He's a nobleman! The two ain't necessarily synonymous!"

  There was a moment of complete, taut silence.

  All his amusement flown, Leith, knowing this man almost as well as he knew himself, said quietly, "Can you tell me?"

  "Dammit—I have no proof." He hesitated. "But—just in case," he said reluctantly, "and on the understanding it cannot be repeated… you remember that beastly Morrissey business?"

  "Good God!" Leith leaned forward. "You—think the man was Fontaine?"

  "I happened to see him with her very late one night. I'm dashed certain her family didn't know she was out. She stopped after she got out of the carriage, and looked back. I saw her face…" He was silent briefly, then said, "And his sire banished him to America. The Earl's been in a black rage ever since. Won't hear his name spoken."

  Leith said, "Not much to go on, Dev. You could be wrong, old fellow."

  "I could be." But Devenish's face was grim, and Leith, dismayed, knew that there was no doubt in his friend's mind.

  "Well, enough of that ugly business," said Devenish. "You said you've a message for Guy. I think you meant for me, as well."

  Leith shook his head, smiling faintly. "Yes. Right, as usual. I saw Mitch in Town before I went down to Sussex."

  "How is he? Has he set fire to the House of Lords yet?" But, something in Leith's expression warning him, he asked sharply,

  "He's all right? He's so blasted outspoken in his efforts for the working classes! I'm afraid he—"

  "No, no. Nothing like that. Mitch is very well, and sends you his affectionate regards. It's—Guy."

  "Oh, Lord! Lyon said people were getting stirred up again."

  "They are. Mitch thinks some hotheads are entertaining thoughts of—well, an impromptu trial. Or worse."

  They exchanged grim glances.

  "Deuce take it! What does he mean to do?"

  "Said he'd talk with Canning and Wellington. The thing is—" Leith frowned worriedly. "I wish poor Castlereagh were alive still. Canning's a rather chilly sort. And the Duke's not too well, I think, and badgered to death, as usual."

  They were quiet then, the shadows lengthening in the room, and both men mentally reliving their desperate and hard-won struggle against the might of Guy Sanguinet's ruthless brother.

  Devenish said, "It's as well I've asked Guy to come down here for a few days. I'll try to keep him longer. He has Lyon, of course. Which reminds me, that young rascal means to offer for Josie. They'd make a good match, don't you think?"

  Leith took a swallow of his Madeira, leaned back his head, and regarded his friend without answering.

  Devenish reddened, squirmed, sampled his wine, and said explosively, "All right, blast it all! What?"

  "You know what."

  "Don't be ridiculous. She's a young and lovely girl, and shall marry someone of her own age. If not Lyon—well, you say I've kept her hidden, but—dash it, I cannot have her presented, Tris. And she'd never be given a voucher for Almacks. If I gave her a Season in Town and—well, if those fools snubbed her because of her lack of birth, I think I'd—"

  He looked ready to do murder just at the thought of it. Leith hid a smile and suggested, "You could give her a come-out ball."
/>   Devenish thought that over. "I could, I suppose," he muttered. "But it must be soon."

  A faint frown tugged at Leith's heavy brows. "Dev," he said, "you may tell me to go to Jericho, but—a few months ago you were insisting your Elf was a mere child. Now you've encouraged her to consider offers of marriage and are planning a ball to launch her. What the deuce are you about?"

  Devenish took their glasses over to be refilled. "Josie told you. I'm planning on a wedding of my own." He turned back, met Leith's stunned expression, and said quickly, "But I'm not ready to make an announcement, so be a good fellow and do not tease me. Where do you propose we hold this ball? In Town?"

  Struggling to regain his composure, Leith said, "What? Oh— well, with Christmas so near I fancy most parties are already planned. Why not here? You'd have to accommodate a crowd overnight, at least, but you've room enough, Lord knows. There's the Crown in the village, and you're not impossibly far from Stroud and Gloucester. You know all our lot would come, and rope in whomever we can in addition. Between the lot of us, we might even snare a Duchess or two. Lucinda Carden will help; she's fond of Josie."

  "By Jupiter!" said Devenish. "Be dashed if I won't do it!"

  The air was cold in the early morning, and a fine mist wound about the stableyard, eddied to the movements of the impatient horses, and left a wet gloss on the cobblestones. Devenish cupped his hands and bent to receive Josie's foot and throw her up into the saddle. She smiled down at him as he adjusted her stirrups, then touched his cheek with her whip. "Well, poor old soul," she said, twinkling at him. "I have been away for almost three weeks and this is our first ride together. Are you not going to tell me how well I look?"

  She wore a riding habit of blue wool, with collar and cuffs of silver fox, and a jaunty cap of the same fur was perched on her dark curls. She looked very well indeed, and he said, "Of course you look well. I'm sure your mirror has already told you so."

  ''How ungracious."

  "Very well," he capitulated, grinning. "You are the loveliest sight to gladden my aged eyes these past three weeks."

  "Not too gracious, Dev," she cautioned. "Lady Isabella will be jealous."

  Climbing into his curricle, Leith checked for a startled second, his dark eyes becoming very wide, but he said nothing as he settled himself.

  Devenish mounted up and restrained Santana, who showed an inclination to jump over Leith and the curricle. "Lady Isabella thinks my daughter is exceeding pretty," he said lightly, "if ageing rapidly.''

  Josie flung at him, "I hope Santana sits on you!"

  Laughing, the Colonel took up his whip. "Peace, my children. Or I shall be off without you."

  Devenish on one side of the curricle, Josie on the other, they clattered out of the yard and followed the drivepath through the estate until they reached the lane that wound through the hills to connect with the Stroud road. Along the way, Josie chattered happily with Leith about the proposed ball, Devenish listening and inserting an amiable comment from time to time, until at last he remonstrated, "Give over, little one! You will drive poor Tris to distraction. Since he was so clever as to suggest a ball for you, you must not now submerge him in it."

  Leith at once disclaimed, but Josie cried anxiously, "No, am I doing so? Oh, I am sorry, Tris! Dev's right—it was so good of you to think of it. I know I'm being a prattlebox, but—oh, I am so excited!" From the corner of her eye she saw the twitch to her guardian's lips and laughed. "Very well. I shall say no more about it. Leith, you will give my love to your dear wife and children, and— Rachel will come to the ball, no? Oh, and we must not forget, dearest, to invite Tristram's General—what's his name? I always forget, and— Oh, dear, now I've done it again!"

  She looked comically dismayed, and the two men laughed heartily. And so they went on through the misty morning, three good friends, too warmed by their pleasure in one another's company to be chilled by the dank air that swirled about them.

  They said their farewells at the crossroad, and the two riders sat their fidgeting horses looking after the curricle until Leith turned at the last bend to wave back at them, then disappeared from sight.

  "Dear Tris," said Josie nostalgically, as they turned about. "How well he looks."

  "Yes. He's the best of good fellows. And greatly blessed to have such a gentle lady to take care of him."

  ''Does that suggest, I wonder, that I do not take care of you, sir?"

  "You do very well, Milady Elf, considering you're not a young matron, but the merest snip of a rascally brat."

  "Oh!" she exclaimed joyously. "A challenge, is it?" And then, dismay coming into her eyes, "You did not wear a scarf! If that is not just like—"

  With a whoop he was away, crouched low in the saddle, the big black stretching out eagerly as he spurned the earth beneath his flying hooves.

  Josie gave a cry of indignation, touched her heels to her mare's sleek sides, and was after him like the wind.

  With very little effort, Devenish could have been entering the house with his ward half a mile behind, but he held the affronted stallion back just sufficiently to allow her to come up with him. The cold wind rushed past, the mists whirled madly, and the thunder of hooves and creak of leather increased as the mare drew level. Turning an exhilarated face, he saw Josie's eyes bright and her cheeks glowing with colour. Neck and neck, they galloped down the last sloping hill. Neck and neck, they raced to the hedge and cleared it side by side, and a hare chose that of all moments to shoot out from under the mare's hooves. A squeal of fright, a wild scramble, and for one of few times in her life, Josie was unseated. She landed so hard that the breath was driven from her lungs and, winded and humiliated, she lay for a moment, collecting herself.

  There came a rush of running steps; a frantic gasping of her name. Devenish was on his knees beside her, holding her hand, gazing down at her, his face chalk-white, his voice shaking. "Josie! Little one… how badly are you hurt? Dear God! Can't you speak? Josie, Josie—talk to me!"

  She blinked up at him. He looked so anguished! She said, "I am dead.''

  Speechless, he bowed his cheek against her hand. Then, blinking rapidly, he slipped one arm around her. She could feel him trembling.

  "I am—quite all right," she said breathlessly. "Dearest—do not be so afraid."

  "Oh, I am not," he managed with a stiff, twitching smile.

  "Only that I—I feared I might be obliged to carry another lady back to Devencourt. Dreadfully hard on an old gentleman's back."

  He helped her up, and she said, "I am much lighter than Mrs. Bliss," but was glad enough to lean on his arm as he led her over to the mare.

  "Yes. And much more precious to me," he said quietly.

  He assisted her into the saddle as though she were made of spun glass, and watched anxiously as he handed her the reins. "You can ride? I'll hold you in my saddle if you are unsteady, Elf."

  She assured him she was much better, but he walked the horses back to Devencourt. When they arrived, he lifted her from the saddle, then gave her into Mrs. Robinson's care with strict instructions that she was to be laid down upon her bed and if she felt at all unwell was not to come down for dinner that evening.

  Devenish watched her being tenderly escorted upstairs between the solicitous housekeeper and Klaus, who had come running when he saw the disheveled condition of his beloved young lady. The steward was waiting, as requested, but Devenish was in no frame of mind to engage in a discussion of the worsening condition of the access road, and sent the man off.

  He made his way to his study, poured himself a strong measure of brandy, and took up Bolster's letter, but his hand trembled, and he put it down again, and sat frowning at the vase of chrysanthemums until roused by a shove against his knee. Lady Godiva grinned at him. He patted her thoughtfully and told her he had nothing for her to eat. She had entered through the unlatched French door to the terrace, with the result that a chill stream of air was now blowing into the room. Devenish closed the door, and Lady Godiva sat down besid
e the hearth. She looked despondently at the empty grate and, amused, he enquired if she would wish that he order a fire laid. The pig turned a tragic gaze on him, and curled up, but he saw that she was shivering. He limped over to cover her with a brown fur rug that

  Josie had set before the fireplace to conceal the hole burned in the carpet last winter by a falling log. "I wish," he grumbled good-naturedly, "that someone would tell me what earthly use you are."

  The pig regarded him with such obvious gratitude that he could only chuckle and tuck the rug closer about her. She burrowed under it happily and Devenish crossed to tug on the bell pull before he seated himself at the desk.

  In about ten minutes, a shuffling step in the hall apprised him of the fact that Wolfe had negotiated the not inconsiderable distance from the butler's pantry to the study, and was now leaning against the wall outside, recovering himself. After an appropriate pause, the door opened. Somewhat out of breath still, Wolfe reeled in, and waited respectfully to be advised of his employer's wishes.

  "Wolfe," said Devenish, "we are going to give a ball."

  "Haaa… wheee…" wheezed the old gentleman, swaying. "In—Town, sir?"

  "Here. And it must be soon, before everyone is completely immersed in preparations for Christmas entertainments."

  Wolfe regarded him with glazed eyes.

  Devenish went on, "We shall have to hire more servants, naturally, but I leave all that to you and your staff."

  "Of… c-course, sir. May I ask how—how many we are to—invite?"

  "Lord knows. But—oh, at least a hundred couples, I'd think. So we must ready the ballroom." He frowned. "Jove—is the floor safe?"

  "I could not say, sir. No one's been in there for several years. Save to dust."

  "Hmmmn. I'd best go and have a look. Meanwhile, please tell Mrs. Robinson and Signor della Casa so they may begin to mull on the matter.''

  He ignored the old man's dismayed look and, aware of his chef's nasty temper, wandered nonchalantly from the room, feeling a most heartless cad.